The Short Tale of the Windflower; Part 1: Ephemeral.

It was inside a quiet room of a certain mansion. The wind had gone silent on that snowy night. Protecting the room from the cold outside was a furnace. Its gentle warmth fondled two new lives as they were dreaming. So small and frail that even the most delicate touch could shake them. Like a snow that rested in the palm of the hand, they would crumbled with the slightest brush.

The mother, laid rest on the bed, was too weak to approach the crib. She wanted to caress those two tiny beings and held them. But, she could not. Her white and silent woe crumpled her heart. Indeed, her now disheveled and pale face told no lies, unfeigned. And yet, it was the first time she had woken up since her labor two days ago and she couldn't as much as saw their sleeping face. Wherever in the world would a mother not give to see her baby?

But the faint sound of the twin's breath put her mind at ease for now. She would embrace that breath with hers. Each brew of their breaths summoned an unsullied smile. Her mesmerizing allure blossomed through her ashen frame. Her bright tan skin chimed in grace with her dark silky hair. Her elegant demeanor was reflected in those tender and suave eyes. There indeed were traces of grace in her pale face. It was no exaggeration that Chiruita Blancas was the color of autumn, a decorum to the freezing red leaves.

"Forgive me."

The man averted his eyes to hers. "Nonsense." His hands let go of the crib and began to button his suit, slowly reaching the tie. "It was I who should've said that."

Finished fastening his tie, the man approached his wife. His small and sharp blue eyes were crystal, decorated with thin lips that were bent in a strange manner. Seemed like a crooked grin from above, looked down to insult. But this woman, Chiquita Blancas, knew it was but a smile. So small, almost invisible to get a glimpse at. A gesture that showed how awkward his husband was, and how seldom he ever revealed his emotions. A gesture only she could understand.

Lynn Twan walked toward his wife as he said, "I wished I could have come immediately this afternoon. For not being here for the past two days..."

It was then that another expression caught her in that grin. It was sadness, a guilt. She would not be able to notice that were it not for Lynn's nose. It was his habit, his nose would pulsate whenever he's sorry, or felt regret. Indeed, such a rare occasion that the man Lynn Twan would show such thing he'd considered a weakness. All the more reason for her regret.

As he sat beside her, she shook her head and let out a weak, regretful voice. "It wasn't that..." Her expression froze in a sudden. Something had struck her throat and left her voice hanging. She quickly put her hands under the blanket. She was, after all, still depleted in energy.

He sat closer, unnoticed of her wife's painful expression. But, he realized what she had meant. "Yes, although I would have been happier had you told me..." took his wife's hand, "it does not matter now, does it not?" and assured her.

"I did not mean to keep it secret..."

In his silent, he tried to reach her with his eyes instead. He could not hold his wife's hand with this one. "I understand you did not want to interrupt my business trip. But enough," his round head shook a little, "I was also at fault for letting business affair took precedence over my daughters’ birth."

There's a sweet surrender in her smile as it tried to lift the guilt in Lynn's eyes.

"I wanted to have a child of our own," said her now coarse voice.

"As did I." His eyes took a glance at the crib. "And there they are, our little flowers."

Unconsciously maybe, but Lynn Twan bloated his chest. A strange manner from a man of such stern and serious nature. Yet, most surprising was his face. That weird grin just now faded away into a smile. A clear smile full of pride, brief as it might be. It was a face Chiquita first saw when she told him they had been expecting a baby. A silly and innocent happy smile.

After all, "I've finally become a father." It was then that his smile vanished as if some burden had pulled down his lips. Through the blanket, he felt his wife's hand, in a slow and tender manner as if actually palpated it.

It was thin, he could almost felt her bones. Even that soft blanket could not hide the brusque skin it had become. The beauty that was reminiscent of autumn had now shriveled. Her leaves had fallen, and a pollen of snow had colored them pale.

It was a miracle she had survived. It was beyond a miracle—how God must have touched His hand upon his family—his babies had also survived. But thinking about God had made him more anxious.

He had prepared for it mentally beforehand. It was their struggle long before marriage. A stubborn pebble in their shoes. It was fate--they used to believe. An inevitable future that their children would grow up without her mother.

"You did well, dear." a kiss settled on Chiquita's temple. A cold, reassuring kiss that would otherwise be lonely for strangers. It stayed there for sometimes, carving his hopes.

The sweet and bitter scent of his wife's skin touched Lynn's senses. It was--yes, it was just like this when he proposed her. It was also snowy and the freezing night felt like forever when Chiquita revealed her illness. He spent the entire night convincing her to keep the unborns.

Almost three years they resisted her illness, he recalled in irony. After disowning his own blood relatives, it was himself, Chiquita and her only sister. It was a long and winding path. Yet finally, hope smiled at their fate.

"You've made me a complete man." Filled with dwelling emotions, his face was solemn. After all, she had made a stoic, work-driven man felt living emotions.

Chiquita let out a chuckle, so dry one would almost mistake it for a wailing cry. "Is that why you name them 'windflower'?"

"Why, of course. It isn't a strange name, is it?"

Her sheer strength tried to move her hands to no avail. She shook her head, perhaps in part to hide the desperation in her face. "We have been waiting for this. I have been waiting for this." And she smiled, looking now to the crib that sheltered her twin daughters.

Lynn looked at her eyes, unable to say anything. His mouth spoke no words, his eyes exuded no essences. The stillness of a man aspired to excellence. But, Chiquita understood. Her eyes embraced his, as he silently got up from the bed. Slowly he approached the floor mirror in the corner and adjust his attire for the last time. Facing the crib, his face longed for the babies before walking over the door.

“It's been a part of my life.” Chiquita suddenly said, which made Lynn stopped his steps. “I've lived with it for quite long.”

His face was arduous as it looked her. Still and cold that showed no emotions. But she understood something hidden behind it. She moved to the side of the bed and reached her husband’s hand. The wry in her smile had vanished as it told him she would be all right.

Her hand let go of his husband’s and reached for her own chest. “I'll still be there for the twin’s birthday next year.” She was as afraid and anxious as Lynn, but in the end, she willed it. For her own sake as it was for her husband’s. She let out a gentle and firm smile.

“And you will,” Lynn's reply had in it strong resolve. “I'll see to it that you're going to get the best treatment. You are my only wife, it is not I your place to worry and suffer.”

Her nod was weak and she waved her smile once again, telling him to go. “You should ask my sister to go with you. It is unbecoming for a man of quality not to ask for a date coming to a ball. Besides, she’d be glad to.”

He said nothing. Only a brief nod and salient stare before walked out of the room. It might have been foolish for him not to be by her side after all that had happened. Ever more so if she'd been in a coma for two days.

Yet, he had to go. It was just a matter of work, his other self. For Lynn Twan was a man of quality and a man of pride. He was as much a man of work as he was a father. It was hard for him to leave Chiquita in her current condition. It was hard for him to live as he was now that he had also become a father.

It was his most joyous moment and, maybe for that, was his torment.

Yet there was something else in his mind. Something magical enough to put a smile on that gloomy face.

It was two wooden plates neatly displayed on the crib. In it was two lovely names: Aria and Alyssa—the name of the windflower. It filled his heart with joy and his face with a smile. For in the language of flower, windflower, anemone, means anticipation. Indeed, they were his and Chiquita's blithe anticipation.

*Disclaimer: The image (C. Dickens, "A Child's Dream of A Distant Star", 1871) was taken from wikimedia.